


The House of Life

by XVnot15



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: AU Historical, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-13
Updated: 2016-05-05
Packaged: 2018-05-06 10:48:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5414000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XVnot15/pseuds/XVnot15
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coming from two very different worlds, the aristocratic scholar Regina Fitzwilliam and the streetwise adventurer Emma Swan come into conflict as they race to be the first to discover the lost House of Life of Thoth scribe of the Gods, an ancient Library said to rival that of Alexandria and to contain the wisdom of the ages. The kidnapping of Regina's young son Henry by the deranged Professor Gold and his henchman, sees the two women overcome their differences and work together to try and save the boy and beat the villains to the prize.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue upon Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> A/N 1: Trigger warning: Childhood physical abuse.
> 
> A/N 2: This is first and foremost a work of fiction, a playground of imagination, and while I have used my own scholastic background to lend the flavour of authenticity to much of the background, I have also used my imagination and DELIBERATELY changed some things in a reasoned and LOGICAL way to accommodate the story I wish to tell. i.e. Please don’t waste my time and yours by leaving notes or reviews with nit-picking and smug declarations that you’ve caught me out on some incorrect historical detail. If you do, I might be tempted to slap you silly with the 20 hour lecture series I created and delivered on the history of Egyptology. Remember kidlets it’s – F I C T I O N!
> 
> Disclaimer: Nothing is mine; I make no money from my scribbles. Go on and sue me if you must, I’ll enjoy reading femslash out loud in court just to show TPTB how it should be done.

**Prologue 1  
**

**England: 1902**

“Regina! Regina where are you? Wicked child, show yourself!”

Lady Cora O’Donnell swept into the nursery her voice cutting into the air like a sheet of ice. Glaring across the empty room she saw no sign of her eldest daughter and moved swiftly on into the small bedchamber attached to the nursery which appeared to be just as empty.

“If you are hiding under the bed again Regina I will show you how such skulking vermin are dealt with in this house. Come out this instant!”

She tilted her head allowing her very acute hearing to better pick up any possible sounds that might come from under the furniture but the room remained silent and she turned and left with a sniff of disgust.

“I swear child, if you are hiding in your father’s study again I am going to beat you within an inch of your life. You _will_ learn the price of disobedience this time.”

Two floors and several corridors away in the East wing of the country house eight year old Lady Regina O’Donnell was happily curled up in her father’s favourite chair fully engrossed in the book on her lap, the story had her completely riveted, _Ben Hur: A Tale of Christ_. She had been immersed in the tome since shortly after breakfast and the excitement of Judah Ben Hur’s plight in the slave galley had her continuing to turn the pages long after she should have joined her little sister in the Chinese parlour for their deportment lesson.

Lady Cora’s angry progress through the house had the servants scurrying to get out of her way lest her ire fall upon them. The agitated woman continued to mutter what she would do to her daughter as she walked, not raising her voice but still audible to those she passed. One of the younger maids who was particularly fond of little Regina, and not at all fond of her Mistress, ducked down a side hallway and ran as fast as she could through a service corridor leading more directly into the east wing intent on warning the little girl of her mother’s advent. Not letting up on her speed she skidded into the study causing Regina to drop her book in fright at her sudden appearance.

“Miss Regina your mother is looking for you and she is very angry indeed.” The servant managed to get out between great gulps of air as she tried to catch her breath. Knowing that Lady Cora was not far behind her the girl made her exit as quickly as she’d arrived hoping her warning would at least help the little girl hide until she could fetch the girl’s father from the stables. The maid knew Lord Enrique doted on his eldest daughter and was confident he would mitigate any punishment Lady Cora might inflict on the young girl.

Regina looked at the clock over the mantel and her face paled in dismay the white standing out in stark contrast to the dark curls that framed her features. It was now nearly one o’clock she was an hour late for her hated lesson with Miss Abigail. Her head shot up as she heard her mother approaching and in a panic she lunged behind her father’s desk diving behind the heavy brocade drapes framing the window where she crouched down trying to make herself as small as possible and bring her breathing under control lest it give her away to her mother who had just entered the study.

“Regina, where are you, you ungrateful child?” the woman barked out before noticing the book splayed out beside the chair by the fireplace.

Cora strode over and yanked the book from the floor to read the title, noting it as proof enough that Regina had been here just as she suspected. Her eyes scanned the room carefully, the book’s tumbled state alerting her to a hasty and possibly unsuccessful escape by the girl. Nothing seemed to be out of place and a glance behind the couch and other furniture didn’t produce any sign of her offspring. She was just turning to leave when her glance fell on the window and she noticed one curtain was draping differently to the other.

Cora’s brow creased further as her anger ratcheted to pure fury which propelled her around the desk to rip the curtains away from the wall immediately exposing the crouching child behind them. Cora bent and wrenched the girl upright by one arm dragging her to the front of the desk.

“You ungrateful, wicked girl, how dare you embarrass me in front of your new Governess.”

“I’m sorry Mother, I lost…” Her apology was cut short by the slap of her mother’s hand across her face.

The pain exploded in her cheek causing instant tears to sting her eyes as they escaped without her consent. The tears continued but in an eerily silent way unaccompanied by any real sound from Regina who was busy bracing herself for the next blow, her mother didn’t disappoint her expectation as she backhanded across the child’s face. The angry woman ignored both Regina’s wail of pain and the gout of blood that sprang from the gash one of her large rings had torn above the child’s upper lip. A third blow which deposited some blood on her own hand seemed to give her pause and Regina now unable to hide her sobs of pain, dared to hope that her obvious injury would be enough to assuage her mother’s anger.

“Look at this mess, you bleed like a stuck pig you useless girl.” Cora maintained her painful grip on Regina’s arm while fastidiously wiping her daughter’s blood from her hand onto the girl’s dress, carefully examining herself to ensure no blood had stained her own clothes.

“Please m..m…Mother, I’m truly sorry.” Regina stuttered her apology while trying to stop the flow of blood from her lip with her hand.

“Oh you’ll be sorry alright my girl. You are going to learn once and for all not to defy me Regina.” She shook the frightened child several times while also scanning the room for something she could use to assist her in her intended discipline. Her lips quirked in a cruel smile when she spotted the stand containing several of her husband’s favoured walking sticks and she dragged the now terrified and protesting child behind her to the stand.

Regina was long used to her mother’s ideas of discipline indeed her first memory of her mother was of the woman spanking her for having sneezed all over herself while her picture portrait was being taken, she hadn’t been more than two years old at the time but Cora had believed the infant Regina had done it on purpose and disciplined her for it. Lady O’Donnell was definitely a supporter of the adage if you spare the rod you spoil the child and she wasn’t one to spoil her eldest child in any way.

Until today however her many physical chastisements had all been done with the flat of her hand or by proxy through the hand of the girl’s nurse. She’d never used an implement to strike Regina before and for that reason alone the girl’s mind was slow to understand the implication of what was about to happen when her mother removed one of her father’s sturdy wooden walking sticks, almost an inch thick, from the stand near the fireplace.

Cora dragged the crying child to the chair she’d been sitting in only moments before and pushed her face down over the side, adjusting her talon like grip on Regina’s arm better to keep her in place as she swung the stick down across the girl’s backside. The howl of pain the poor child let loose made no impression on her mother who began to beat her with a flurry of strokes.

“You will never disobey me like that again, do you hear? I will not suffer your constant flouting of my instructions and your disrespect for one more minute.” Cora continued her assault as she ran through a list of transgressions she was punishing Regina for, blithely ignoring the sounds of pain and distress from her daughter. Regina for her part tried to get away from the grip her mother had on her only for the woman to cruelly twist her arm behind her back and continue with the beating.

“ _Dios Mio!_ What do you think you are doing?!” Lord Enrique O’Donnell called out as he entered the room and saw what his wife was doing to his beloved daughter. Hearing her father’s voice seemed to lend Regina renewed strength and she struggled mightily to get away from her mother.

“You’re not going anywhere.” Cora growled at Regina punctuating her statement with a vicious strike of the cane. Regina screamed in pain not yet registering that the stroke had broken the skin on the back of her leg. Sobbing she cried out to her father.

“ _Ella me está haciendo daño. Ayúdame papá_.”

“Cora Stop!!” Enrique roared moving across the room at speed.

Cora had never seen her husband this angry, nor heard him raise his voice so loud and was momentarily stunned, hand raised mid-strike. Regina took advantage of the distraction and finally wrenched herself from her mother’s hold. Shock wearing off, Cora’s grip tried to tighten again causing her nails to tear through the girl’s sleeve scoring deep bloody marks in tender flesh as she broke free. Regina stumbled toward her father on damaged legs and flung herself into his arms sobbing incoherently and clinging to him with all her strength.

“ _Estoy aquí mi niña querida_.” Reassuring her that he was indeed there, her father held the child close for a moment allowing her to cry into his shoulder. He wasn’t sure if the shaking in his arms was from Regina’s sobs or his own anger over what he’d just witnessed.

He glared over Regina’s head at his wife who stood proudly unrepentant, walking stick still in hand scowling right back at him. Patting the child’s back he coaxed her away from his shoulder and gasped when he got a proper look at her torn lip. Murmuring comforting words in a mixture of English and Spanish he pulled the cravat from his neck and pressed it to her face to staunch the still bleeding wound. He encouraged Regina to take the cloth and hold it in place as he gently picked her up and turned toward the door.

“Where do you think you are going Enrique, I’m not done with that disgrace of a daughter.” Enrique continued toward the door ignoring his wife’s cold tones until he caught her movement toward them from the corner of his eye and he stopped turning his head back to the Cora but shielding Regina’s body with his own.

“Listen carefully _bruja_ , take one more step and I swear I will use that walking stick on you.” His words came out in a menacing growl that stopped Cora in her tracks.

He continued to the door and stepped into the hall where the butler and the young maid who’d warned Regina about her mother stood waiting. The resourceful girl had run toward the stables and been relieved to run right into Lord O’Donnell who had returned early from his ride because of the rain. Tears sprang to her eyes when she saw the number of injuries little Regina had sustained.

“Regina listen to me, Rebecca here is going to take you to Papa’s rooms and see to your wounds while Mr Jeffries sends for the doctor. I want you to go with her while I speak to your mother.” His voice was gentle and he looked at her poor ravaged face with the saddest, gentlest eyes even as his gut still roiled with anger.

“No one will ever raise their hand to you again, I promise on my life. You are _hija de mi alma_ and I’m so sorry I didn’t know how bad things were.” Regina cut him off squeezing him into a tighter hug, oblivious to the blood and other fluids she was smearing over his riding pinks. He rubbed her back, eased her away and put her down making sure she was steady before turning her toward the waiting maid.

“Go now _mi niña preciosa_. I will be along as soon as I can.”

“Come along Miss Regina, we’ll get a soothing compress for that lip and draw you a warm bath.” Rebecca put her arm gently round Regina’s shoulders and led her away before Enrique turned to the butler.

“Send a footman in a carriage to fetch Doctor Carter as quick as you can. Unless he’s actually performing surgery I expect to see him here within the hour. And Jeffries, I want my valet outside my rooms at all times until I say otherwise.” He looked the tall man directly in the eye. “Inform him that under no circumstances whatsoever is Lady O’Donnell or Miss Abigail to be allowed in to see my daughter until I say otherwise.”

“Very good My Lord. I’ll send for the doctor immediately.” With a short bow he turned and moved quickly down the corridor.

Lord Enrique O’Donnell y Jorres, Marques de Tetuan stood for a moment in thought and strove to tamp down on the rage he felt toward the woman in the other room. He tried to remember the stunning and witty person he’d been pleasantly enamoured of a decade earlier when they met in London and the reasons why he had decided to pursue her hand. True their marriage had not been a grand romance but they had shared both affection and common interest for some time, or so he’d thought.

The truth was they’d been leading virtually separate lives since the birth of their second child Alexandra four years previously. They remained at the country house he’d purchased for them in Bedfordshire some few miles from Cora’s ancestral home; but maintained appearances only for social niceties, rarely interacting unless guests were present. Unlike most men of his class and generation Enrique was in no way obsessed with producing a male heir, and as a Spanish nobleman he had no problem with his eldest daughter, on whom he doted, being his heir as allowed by Spanish custom.

The estrangement aside Enrique could not reconcile the memory of the woman he’d married with the She-Demon he had just caught beating their child. He knew that Cora had never bonded with Regina the way she quite obviously had with Alexandra who followed her mother everywhere when allowed to do so. He thought the reason might possibly be because of Regina’s very difficult and painful birth or perhaps from the fact Cora had been too ill for months afterward to have anything to do with caring for her first child or maybe it was because she’d wanted a boy. Mayhap it was all or none of these but it was a fact that Cora had never shown any affection to her eldest daughter.

The morning’s events had him wondering how many of the small bruises and injuries he’d seen Regina sporting over the years had indeed been the result of the usual childhood mishaps and how many had actually been inflicted by his wife. He decided it didn’t matter now, as she would never again have the privilege of her daughter’s company in which to so misuse her. Decision made he squared his shoulders and returned to his study to confront Cora and inform her that he and Regina would be leaving this house as soon as he arranged a new home for them far away from her vindictive temper. He would not take Alexandra from his wife for the same reason he would not leave Regina in her care; separating the younger girl would be as damaging to her as leaving his elder child in Cora’s care would be to Regina.

Enrique and Regina had come down to London as soon as the doctor had agreed Regina could travel and stayed with a scholarly friend of Enrique’s while he found them a suitable new home. Six weeks later found them ensconced in a modest country house in Richmond-Upon-Thames. It was less than half the size of the house in Bedfordshire which he left to his wife, but more than adequate for Regina and himself and all their needs. The small household was made up of a few loyal servants who came with them, including his valet and the young maid Rebecca, with the addition of a pleasant elderly widow, Mrs Jane Shepherd and her baby grand-daughter Ruby, his Lordship had engaged as a nanny for Regina.

Before leaving her he had informed Cora that he would not divorce her unless she chose to petition for a divorce herself and that he would continue to properly support her, but he was adamant that she would never see her eldest daughter again until such time as Regina might choose to meet with her. Cora had been visibly relieved when he’d also informed her that he would not take Alexandra from her but that he expected the child to visit Richmond regularly so that she could maintain a relationship with her father and her sister.

The house was surrounded by several acres of gardens and rough woodland with a small stable and several outbuildings attached to the estate. Enrique had chosen it for its proximity to Richmond Park which afforded excellent riding trails for him and Regina to indulge their passion for horses. The happy father and daughter had just returned from such a ride and where making their way back to the house to change when Enrique took Regina’s hand and lead her to the garden at the back of the house.

When they rounded the corner Regina spied the gardener Mr Wilton rolling a wheelbarrow to the far end of the lawn where a cherry tree and a plum tree grew near the garden wall. He stopped beside a medium sized hole already dug out about ten feet away from the other trees and set the wheelbarrow down before touching his cap to her father.

“Here you are, just as you ordered your Lordship, one Early Red One sapling. I tell you it was a right circus trying to find one of these. They come from some foreign parts so the salesman said and he only had the one left in stock.”

Lord O’Donnell laughed and smiled as he thanked the man and sent him on his way to other duties. He then took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, instructing Regina to do the same with her jacket and sleeves.

“Regina,it is a tradition in my family that when you wish a new endeavour or adventure to be fruitful and to endure a long time that you should plant a fruit tree that may grow with it, sustain it and bring good fortune to your success.” He gently gathered the apple tree sapling from the barrow and loosened the loose sacking round the roots before lowering it into the hole. 

“Come and hold the sapling straight _mi Princesa_ while I fill in the hole and pack it down.”

“What kind of tree will it be Papa?” Regina asked as she smiled at her father, hardly feeling the pull of the scab still covering the healing cut above her lip. The visible scar that would be left behind by her mother’s cruelty was already being soothed away by the love and companionship of her beloved father.

“This is an apple tree _Queridisima_. It will grow the most beautiful apples and they will be the deepest red you’ve ever seen, that’s why the species is simply called _Early Red One_.”

Finished with the planting he instructed Regina to bring the watering can that was also in the wheelbarrow over and to carefully water all around the new sapling. Regina did so, struggling at first with the heavy metal canister but managing better as she sprinkled the contents all around the little tree until the watering can was empty. Enrique pulled her to his side and squeezed her shoulder affectionately.

“You and I will take care of this tree together and help it to grow and you will also grow tall and strong and sweet just like this tree and one day, when I am old and you have found your true love you will bring them here to our tree, so that you can sit in its shade and taste its sweetness together. I hope that I will be here to see that day, but even if I am not, you will hear my words of blessing in the whisper of the leaves.”

They smiled at each other once more before gathering their jackets and continuing on into the house, their new life ready to begin.

 

**Prologue 2**

 

**Egypt: 1912**

The silvery glow of the waning moon reflected off the desert sands providing just enough light to see by for the three small figures making their way over the rocky fields of the ancient necropolis. Green eyes gleamed in the moonlight when the lead figure paused a moment looking up to gauge the time by the moon’s new position. The threesome had been walking for more than two hours over sand and rock since leaving the lush green crops at the desert edge. Two of them with bare feet more used to the dusty streets of Cairo, were feeling the cruel edges of stones and rocks, their soles becoming tender and achy with every step.

Eyes focused once more on the ground, the leader motioned the other two to follow in a new direction leading away from the main part of the field of ruins. Continuing their trek the smallest of the three stumbled over a large rock half hidden in the sand and tumbled forward knocking into the boy in front of him and sending them both tumbling down a short hillock. The scramble of the two boys and small cry of pain and surprise earned a glare and hissed shushing sound from the one still standing atop the hillock. The two boys managed to untangle themselves both taking a moment to catch their breath after the fall. They stayed where they sat making no move to rise, the younger one sniffling as he rubbed his injured toe.

After a quick survey to pinpoint their location, the leader decided they would make their intended destination quite soon and decided to join the two boys and take a break before the next part of their mission. Slipping down the incline of sand and rock the larger figure finely came to a halt on the same level and sat down beside the other two. Getting settled they gently took the younger boy’s foot and examined it pleased to see the skin was unbroken before whispering.

“Well that’s not too bad Ali, from your reaction I thought you’d broken your toe or sliced it open at least.”

The boy blushed and continued to rub his toe as he whispered a disgruntled reply.

“It hurt, a lot.”

“Yeah, well when we get close to the tents you better not make a sound, even if you rip your toe off. Understand Ali? I’m serious, you make a sound and we get caught we’ll be in for more than just a beating, they may even take a hand.” Green eyes bore into the younger boy re-enforcing the seriousness of the statement.

“I understand Amr, I do honest, and Magdi said he’d cuff me if I didn’t do as you say, even if we don’t get caught.”

Amr smiled at that, a grin that was infectious and was soon mirrored on the other two adventurers’ faces. A further glance at the moon and tensed shoulders relaxed a little, they definitely had time to spare.

“We’ve made really good time, so we need to rest here for a while, we can’t arrive too early or the guard will still be awake.”

“How much farther is it Bajea?” The larger boy asked, using his friend’s preferred street name.

“Hmm, about the distance from Akbar’s shop to Mosque Ibn Tulun.” The familiar Cairo landmarks gave them all a clear idea of the distance.

“You two try and get some sleep I’ll wake you in an hour.”

Glad of a chance to rest, the two boys made themselves as comfortable as they could folding the empty cloth sacks they carried into makeshift pillows, lying close together for warmth and pulling their threadbare robes tighter to their thin frames. Seeing the boys settled, the leader moved half way up the hill to be able to see the surrounding ruins and keep an eye on the sleeping figures at the same time. Although the two boys were counted as friends, their leader was not happy with having them along on this job, worried about their inexperience and generally preferring to work alone.

A desert breeze swept past leaving behind a thin film of sand covering the wary sentinel causing them to stand and shake the dust off before settling again. Amr was dressed similarly to the sleeping figures below, in the standard clothing of thousands of Cairo street boys; black skull cap, a well-worn thin cotton long shirt called a gallabiyah covered by a slightly thicker outer kaftan robe both reaching to just below mid-calf. Unlike the two boys Ali and Youssef, Amr also wore a pair of simple sandals densely woven from dried reeds and a pair of loose fitted trousers held up with a cloth belt under the outer robes. The former items provided just enough protection from the stony terrain to keep the soles of the feet from becoming tender and to avoid unexpected cuts from sharp rocks; the trousers were the only protection, flimsy as it was, to Amr’s greatest secret. Appearances aside, the leader of this little band was not really a Cairo street boy, but an orphaned and runaway girl whose real name was Emma White.

The twelve year old had run away from a terrible living situation when she was nearly ten and had been making her own way on the streets of the ancient city for more than two years. At first she’d been fortunate enough to be taken in and given work by the kindly man who ran the laundry that serviced the British household from which she’d run away. Ibrahim Abed, the Launderer, had happened upon the small orphan girl sporting ugly bruises and cuts from regular beatings many times when picking up or delivering the laundry to the house. Over time she had charmed him with her good humour even in her sad circumstances and the respect she showed to him and his younger son Khaled who worked with him, marvelling at her perfect command of Arabic and local customs. When she’d shown up obviously badly beaten on his doorstep nearly three years ago he had been unable to refuse her sanctuary. Both he and Khaled, who had also befriended the ill-used girl, kept her secret, helping to create her new identity of Amr Bajea, an abandoned boy, bastard son of an Egyptian mother and a British civil servant long since returned to his native country. The story, a well-known occurrence in the backstreets of the capital, was accepted by all who heard the tale.

Emma had worked for Ibrahim until he fell ill and his eldest son Mohamed had returned from El Minya to run the family business. Mohamed was a supporter of those who were agitating to take back control of their country from the British administration and hated westerners as a matter of principal, so when he arrived in Cairo his first action had been to dismiss the half British _‘boy’_ from the laundry and to turf _him_ out onto the streets.

Luckily for Emma, Khaled told his father what had happened and old Ibrahim instructed him to take her to his friend Magdi Hasan the antiquities dealer in the Khan el-Khalili souk. Magdi was always looking for intelligent and quick witted boys for his various enterprises which included the sale and acquisition of antiquities by fair means and more often by far more dubious means. Ibrahim’s recommendation and the fact that Emma could speak English and French as well as Arabic convinced Magdi the _boy_ _Amr_ would be a great asset. He’d started Emma off doing work in his private workshop creating very convincing fake antiquities, using the real things for models. Emma loved the work and quickly became adept at being able to distinguish between the real thing and the fakes, a skill that would stand her in good stead in the future.

Discovering that Emma was extremely intelligent and could read and write in two of the three languages she spoke, Magdi had soon promoted her to work with the small team of street boys he used to raid archaeological sites and to do illegal digging around the city and beyond. Emma had been fine with clandestine digs having a natural aptitude for picking likely sites to dig in, but she had balked at stealing from other people’s digs. Magdi convinced her that the archaeologists were the ones stealing from the native Egyptians in the first place so there really wasn’t anything wrong with relieving them of some of their already ill-gotten gains , at least if Magdi was selling the pieces the money went to an Egyptian. So talented was she that within a year Magdi allowed her to lead raids and to work alone choosing her own likely targets for pilfering.

The girl’s green eyes trained on the distant ruins, she noted the movement of desert foxes and heard the call of jackals in the far hills. From habit her fingers absently traced the familiar contours of a small metal circle hidden under the thin fabric on her chest. The silver pendent, strung on a leather thong, was the lesser of her two secrets, always hidden, closely guarded and worn for as long as she could recollect, a connection to a different life long left behind and parents only vaguely remembered. The repetitive motions soothed and calmed her as she continued circling over the pendent one finger carefully tracing the outline of the silver bird in its centre, the bird from which she had taken part of her Arabic street name, _Bajea,_ the Swan.

She looked again at the moon, judging the time to be just past midnight. Deciding it was time for some last minute instructions and to get on with the job at hand she scrambled down to her sleeping companions. Rousing them and making sure they were awake and alert she took them through the series of silent signals they would use to communicate when they got to the dig site. The older boy, Youssef, had been on two raids already, but this was Ali’s first time so Emma quizzed him to make sure there would be no mistakes.

“Ali, tell me what things do we take?”

“Whole pots only no pieces, small clay, and stone and glazed statues, scarabs and amulets, only small wood or ivory boxes if there are any.” The boy rattled off the list of items Emma had shown him in Magdi’s shop earlier that day.

“Good.” She gave both boys a pointed glare.

“And what things don’t we take?”

“Gold, silver, anything metal or jewels or any money we might find.” Both boys answered in tandem.

Magdi imposed the rules avoiding anything that had intrinsic value, like precious metals or jewels for his and the boys benefit in case they were ever caught. The penalties for stealing and dealing in antiquities were strict and sometimes severe but were mostly ignored by the authorities when it came to anything that wasn’t gold, silver or unique and different artistically. Hence thousands of common statue figures and amulets in clay, wood, glass and the glazed work called Faience were freely sold to adventurous tourists in the souks of Cairo and Luxor

Satisfied that the boys would do their job properly, Emma led them over the hillock and continued almost due west heading to a recent dig on the desert edges of the Saqqara necropolis run by a Frenchman and his small team of one assistant archaeologist and five full time workmen. Emma had spent three days working as a spoil carrier on the dig the week before in order to case the camp and get a better idea of the dig’s routines. Despite the hard work of dragging heavy baskets of rubble for hours on end for very little money, Emma used this method of infiltration on a regular basis, showing up with her sturdy reed basket along with dozens of other boys her age all hoping for work, it was the perfect camouflage.

Smiling in the darkness, Emma remembered being hastily corralled and moved away from the main area of the dig by the site foreman seven days ago when a pit had been discovered early in the day’s digging. The spoil boys and one workman were moved to a different part of the dig while a flurry of activity continued around the new pit as it was further opened, the workman dragging away the rubble on their own. When the other workmen joined them for the midday meal and rest, the foreman and his friend spoke in French about the tomb they’d discovered. They apparently saw no harm in their casual talk, believing the others were asleep and only spoke Arabic in any case. Emma had lain there feigning slumber as they described the bountiful find of several damaged mummies and an exceptionally large number of grave goods including hundreds of shabti figures.

Emma stayed for three more days while the archaeologists and chief workmen continued to carefully remove material from the pit to the two large tents set up to process the finds. This was her standard practice to judge if it was worth coming back to relieve the foreigners of their new treasures. On the fourth day she had cried off sick saying she was going back to her village to rest before actually returning to Cairo to plan the current raid with Magdi. The antiquities dealer was insistent that Emma should take along the other two boys in order to bring back a decent number of items from the large find. Getting to the dig site Emma made sure the one guard left on the site was sound asleep and quickly and silently led the other boys into the main tent, their bags ready in their hands.

Four hours later the trio were retracing their path through the dense vegetation near the river, heading for their small felucca, carefully hidden and moored away from any houses near the bank. Their progress was slower than the evening before as they were heavily laden with their full satchels over their shoulders and Ali was very glad they’d be able to rest while they sailed back to the city. Emma knew Magdi would be pleased with them, this was one of the best raids she’d led and he’d be able to get top prices for the fine pieces she’d nabbed. She split her time as they travelled between reminding the boys not to draw attention with their exuberance and excitement over the successful raid, and carefully planning what she would do with her share of the money they would receive.

When they got to the little boat and stowed their treasures Emma pushed them off into the current that would take them home, scrambling into the boat at the last minute. Grinning down at her now wet and muddy legs the little blonde decided the first thing she would be getting was a new set of clothes. Decision made she took the tiller and guided the little craft into the waking traffic heading north to Cairo.


	2. Preparations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is 1926 and widowed Regina Fitzwilliam is busy raising her son and planning an exciting archaeological expedition to Egypt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N 1. See Prologue for Disclaimer.
> 
> A/N 2. Thanks to our Dani for being the sweetest gadfly in the world…hope it was worth the wait and chapter two is underway. Huggles.

**Chapter One – Preparations**

The ache behind her eyes indicated to the dark haired woman bent over her desk studying a large folio that it was perhaps time for a much needed break. She finished writing her thoughts on the text before her and put her pen down before relaxing into the high backed chair and removing her glasses. She closed her eyes and let her head fall back gently massaging her temples to relieve the strain her eyes had been under, cracking one eye open she turned and glanced out the window behind her surprised to see that the mid afternoon sunshine was just beginning to fade into a pink tinged dusk.

Lady Regina Fitzwilliam, for the past decade more formally known as the Marquessa de Tetuan, was something of a workaholic when it came to her research and planning and given the momentous designs she was currently mapping out it was unsurprising that she’d been cooped up in her study for the better part of eight hours. She stretched her arms over her head then fished her watch out of her waistcoat her fingers gently running over the initials on the case, _E.C.O.J_ , identifying the original owner of the timepiece, _Enrique Carlos O’Donnell y Joris_. It was a habit she’d developed ever since her beloved father’s watch had been returned to her by his loyal batman after the War. The touch was bitter sweet reminding her both of his love and his loss but it was a connection she cherished and would not do without.  Clicking the case open she saw it was nearly eight o’clock and high time for her to be making her way to her regular evening appointment. Pocketing the timepiece she stood and left the room heading for the small set of rooms directly above her study.

“Henry Daniel Fitzwilliam you get out of that tub and put your nightshirt on this instant or I will come in there and do it for you. Your mother will be here any minute and you’ve been playing about in that bath for nearly an hour.”

Regina smiled at the querulous voice of Jane Shepherd floating out of the nursery suite into the corridor. It was a voice she’d been familiar with most of her life as the older woman had been her Nanny long before she had taken the same role in Regina’s son’s life. She smiled a little sadly realising her baby boy was quickly growing up and wouldn’t be her baby for much longer.

“Is there a problem Granny?” Regina asked coming into the main nursery room and leaning over to kiss the weathered cheek of the woman busily gathering up the toys scattered over the floor. Regina had always called the older woman Granny, it had made things less confusing for her actual granddaughter Ruby, six years Regina’s junior, when they had been growing up together.

“Hello Poppet.” Granny greeted Regina with her pet name.

“Nothing’s wrong other than the perennial problem of small boys being drawn to muck and mud like flies. How you intend to keep him clean out among the wilds of Egypt I have no idea.”

Regina laughed aloud at the older woman’s grumbling and assured her she and Ruby would be certain to make use of the Nile if Henry proved to need a good scrubbing. Grumbling about too adventuress Ladies and too excited children Granny exited the room leaving Regina to tuck her son in for the night.

“Henry, _mi pequeño principe_ , are you ready for bed?”  Regina called out in a pleasant voice while making her way into the bedchamber on the other side of the nursery. She arrived in the room just in time to see her son jump into his bed quickly snuggling under his blankets with a huge grin on his face.

“Estoy listo a mi madre de reina.”

The brunette smiled at his reply. She’d made it a game between them to create little endearments in her father’s native language as a way for Henry to practice his Spanish. She felt it was important to connect the young boy to his heritage after all he would one day hold the title Marques de Tetuan.  

Regina smiled at her son settling in beside him on the bed and reaching for the small framed picture on his bedside table, placing it in Henry’s outstretched hand. When the boy had hold of it he held it up to Regina’s face and she bent forward to kiss the picture before he pulled it back to pass his own lips over the protective glass covering the picture of a handsome, smiling man who appeared to be laughing at the camera. Kisses accomplished he settled the frame on his lap and proceeded to describe his day’s adventures.

“I had a tremendous day today Papa. Uncle John took me to the farrier’s to get Prince Charming re-shoed and he nearly kicked the blacksmith’s new apprentice in the head! Uncle John and Mr Huggot had a devil of a time calming Charming down before he’d let them lead him back into the barn to get his new shoes.” 

Regina leaned back against the headboard and listened to her son talk to the father he’d never met. This was a daily ritual that she’d started the day Henry was born, desperately wanting him to somehow know about the wonderful man who, like millions of others of his generation, would never be coming home to his family. Those first few years it had been Regina talking to baby and toddler Henry telling him about the men of his family, Daniel and her own father. As the boy grew she not only spoke about him but started talking to Daniel as well, sharing his son’s development and her pride in his growth and accomplishments as though her beloved was somehow there with them. The tears of those earliest talks gave way to the softer, permanent and familiar ache of loss as time held and healed the small family of two.

When Henry was old enough to better appreciate the dynamic his mother had created, he’d asked her for a picture of his father and one of his grandfather to keep by his bed so he would know they were close. Regina had established these little chats as part of his bed time ritual, and when he was just turned four Henry started to speak for himself telling his father all about his small boy’s adventures and concerns. The first time he did this Regina had to fight back the tears, looking on at her son bonding with a ghost father he would never know was completely overwhelming.  After a while the ritual had morphed into a true family time when Henry insisted she tell Daniel about her day when he was done with his own tales. Regina had complied with her son’s demand and like her father’s watch; the daily experience was a bitter sweet reminder of her blessing and her loss.

The only time they hadn’t shared this special time together was the nearly five months in 1922 when Regina had accompanied Flinders Petrie on one of his archaeological digs in the Sinai desert.  Five year old Henry had continued to have his nightly conversations, this time with a picture of Regina added to that of his father. Granny, Ruby and Regina’s dear friend, Phryne, who was helping to look after Henry in her absence, also transcribed some of his nightly conversations to send to Regina in Egypt. Henry, just learning to write would add his own hugs and kisses at the end of their transcription and undoubtedly it was always this last page of each letter that Regina kept on her camp desk. Likewise Regina found herself setting time aside at the end of each day to write to Henry about her work with Petrie and the wonders of the ancient landscape she was exploring. Once a week she would gather up her nightly writing and send them express post to England to be read to Henry at the right time each evening.

“It’s your turn now Mama.”

Henry handed the picture to her and Regina proceeded to inform Daniel, and by extension Henry, that she’d been busy all day planning the details of their proposed trip to Egypt. She gave her son a poke in his ribs as she pointed out the added logistical nightmares of having a ten year old boy and his Nanny tag along and how they were providing quite a challenge to her organisational skills.

 

Henry just grinned in complete happiness that this time he would not be separated from Regina for such a long time. The young boy was sad that Granny would not be joining them and knew he would miss her nearly as much as he had his mother, but at 75 she had decided such travel was beyond her and as she had been doing more and more over the last year, Ruby had stepped into the role of Henry’s Nanny for the trip. This time she was taking on the duties with great excitement at the prospect of new experiences and adventures to be had in exotic foreign climes.

 

The fact was that although they were paid for their work both women were more like family than domestic servants. Granny had been a better mother to Regina than her own ever had, she was kind, loving and always there when she was needed. Likewise, the brunette was far closer to Ruby than she was to her sister Alexandra and she felt not a pang of guilt that she loved the young woman more than her own flesh and blood. Regina had tried to bond with her younger sibling during the regular monthly visits early on in their parent’s separation. Unfortunately Alexandra was a mini version of Cora and took her mother’s part in all things, making those visits far from pleasant for her older sister. Eventually Enrique had seen that forcing Alexandra to visit when she had no desire to do so was not in anyone’s interest and had agreed to reduce the meetings to an annual visit during the Christmas holidays. A tradition that had also ceased as soon as Alexandra had turned 16 and refused to disrupt her festive social schedule to spend time with what she, in her kinder moods, referred to as the dreary twosome in Richmond.

 

When Regina had finished she handed the picture back to her son who reached over and placed it beside the picture of his grandfather before he slid down under the covers and Regina pulled them up to his chin. Still looking at the pictures he whispered sleepily.

 

“Goodnight Papa, buenas noches Abuelo.”

 

Regina smoothed his hair down and bent to place a soft kiss on his forehead.

 

“Buenas noches mi pequeño principe. Sleep well.”

 

Regina stayed a little while longer watching and soaking in the peacefulness of her sleeping son. Smiling she kissed his forehead once more, rose from the bed and turned the light out, leaving the door ajar so that the light from the outer room could still be seen.

 

Ten minutes later Regina was once again situated behind her desk searching through papers and files making short notes and separating the papers into two piles as she worked through them, she was so engrossed in her task she didn’t notice when Granny made her way into the study. At least she didn’t notice until Granny made a point of gaining her attention by pushing aside one of the piles with the tray she slid onto the desk.

 

“You skipped dinner again you silly child. I sometimes wonder why you bother employing Mrs Gilbert at all, you skip one meal in two so often.” Granny harrumphed while setting the contents of the tray to rights pulling the plate of cheese, biscuits and fruit forward and pouring out a cup of tea before setting the pot down.

 

“Nonsense Granny, surely it’s only one in three.” Regina replied with a playful smirk.

 

“Besides, you only complain about Mrs Gilbert because she’s not as sweetly biddable as Rebecca was and won’t let you have the run of the kitchen as you used to do.”

 

Regina plucked a piece of apple from the plate and popped it in her mouth taking Granny’s outraged response in stride and allowing the older woman to admonish her to eat or she’d send her to her room. Finishing her small morsel Regina patted Granny’s arm affectionately.

 

“Thank you Granny, I appreciate your care as always, and I promise to eat every crumb and drink every drop.”

 

Granny sniffed disdainfully while also dropping a gentle kiss on her former charge’s forehead.

 

“See that you do, and don’t stay up to some benighted hour either there’s time enough tomorrow to continue your work rested and refreshed.

 

Two hours later Regina popped the last grape on her plate into her mouth, sitting back with a sigh of satisfaction. Although a respected scholar and researcher, often employed by the Egypt Exploration Fund at their offices in London, Regina felt that her mere five months with Petrie were not enough experience for her project in Egypt and intended to contract someone to do the excavation work for her.  The explosion of interest in Egypt since the discovery of Tutankhamen’s tomb four years previously meant there were hundreds of private and sponsored diggers to consider and she’d just sifted through nearly 40 likely candidates before finally narrowing it down to the three remaining files in front of her now.  Tomorrow she would send telegrams to the three to see if they were available for the coming dig season. She knew she’d left things late in the day to secure someone but hoped that her financial incentive would be sufficient to interest at least one of her chosen three.

 

Stacking the three chosen files and placing the already composed telegram on top, Regina’s eye fell on the large pile of rejects on the corner of her desk, noting one a few inches down in the otherwise straight pile that was jutting  out just enough to see the typed name, ‘ _Swan’_ on the tab.   _Typical of the woman, being disruptive to the order of things_ , she thought before giving the file a quick tap to neaten the edges.  Finished for the evening, she turned off the desk lamp and headed for the door, her thoughts continuing to stray to the folder titled _Swan_ and the woman described in its contents, a woman she’d briefly encountered four years previously in Cairo. The meeting had been memorable, if less than pleasant and was certainly one of the reasons Regina had dismissed her out of hand when she’d opened the folder to see the name Emma Swan earlier in the evening.

 

_The non-public research areas of the Cairo museum were a rabbit warren of corridors and small rooms in the rear wing of the large building and Regina was hopelessly lost as she tried to find her way back to the main galleries and the exit. Professor Petrie had entrusted her to deliver some Late Period papyrus texts to an expert at the museum from their excavation in an ancient quarry in Sinai. The texts were a truly unexpected find in a site that had till that point only yielded material dated from the Early Dynastic and Archaic Periods 2000-2500 years earlier than the small pot of papyrus fragments she’d just delivered and Petrie was eager to have them translated as soon as possible to see how they related to the site._

_The brunette headed toward another junction in the corridor, quickening her pace and pulling her watch from her jacket pocket before popping it open to check the time, she needed to catch the 4:15pm train to Suez or she would be stuck in Cairo overnight before she could catch another one.  Noting it was already 3:20pm she broke into a near run while fumbling to get her watch back into its pocket. Her attention on the struggle with the watch, she wasn’t paying attention to her surroundings and ran head first at speed into someone just rounding the corner she was headed toward._

_“Christ! That damned well hurts!”_

_Hearing the curses Regina looked up from where she’d landed on the floor amid a scattered mess of papers, folders and photographs to see a woman with blonde hair in a long French braid and wearing a man’s shirt and trousers kneeling beside her and putting a hand to her head to touch the small trickle of blood dripping from a cut over her eyebrow. Regina’s own head was ringing from the impact and she struggled to get to a seated position. Managing finally to right herself the brunette leant her back against the wall her hands resting on the debris on either side supporting her._

_“You okay? That was a hell of a smash up.”_

_Disoriented and trying to deal with the ringing in her ears all Regina could do was nod at the woman, an action that sent a sharp pain stabbing through her head and causing her to wince and squeeze her eyes tightly shut as she struggled to breathe through the new agony and the roil of her rebelling stomach. Eyes still shut she felt the gentle touch of fingers on her cheek slowly moving her head to face the other woman._

_“You look a little green there, are you going to be sick?” The tone was solicitous and concerned and Regina noted what might be an American accent, but it was hard to place. She did feel sick, but there was no way she was going to disgrace herself in front of this stranger so she swallowed and breathed through her nose swallowing back the nausea and keeping her eyes shut._

_“That’s it, breath through it. Do you think you could open your eyes, I‘d like to see if you can focus, I think you’re concussed and maybe we should get you to a doctor.”_

_Taking another breath Regina slowly opened her eyes blinking a little against the light before her eyes focused properly and she saw the woman knelt before her with a hand now on her shoulder and kindly green eyes examining her responses with concern._

_“Okay, just follow my finger with your eyes, don’t move your head.”_

_The blonde held up a finger a few inches in front of Regina’s face and moved it slowly left and right and then up and down and the brunette followed its progress feeling a slight twinge but the severe pain and nausea had definitely receded. The woman repeated her movements once more and then covered one of the brunette’s eyes for a few seconds before removing her hand and then repeating the same movements with the other eye noting both pupils were equal in size and reactive to light. Finished her checks the young woman smiled brightly at Regina._

_“Well your eyes look alright, both are reacting properly and you look a little less like you’re going to spew your lunch.”_

_She reached up and touched a point high on Regina’s forehead._

_“But you’ve got a nice sized goose egg appearing here so you should probably take it easy for a while. Wanna try standing up?”  The woman’s voice was friendly and genuinely solicitous calming Regina’s jangled nerves._

_Regina nodded her agreement reaching for the hand proffered by the other woman to pull herself upright and gave a little gasp at the strong pull that raised her quickly to her feet. The speed made her dizzy and she wobbled precariously till the woman’s other arm came round her waist steadying her till she could stand on her own.  Noting the other woman was now steady on her feet; the blonde removed her arm from around Regina’s waist and took a step back before smilingly holding her hand out to her and introducing herself._

_“Hi. I’m Emma Swan by the way. Hell of a way to meet wouldn’t you say?”_

_Regina automatically took the proffered hand giving it a firm shake while taking the time to properly appraise the woman. She was young, maybe 20 Regina thought, her face was strikingly beautiful despite its tanned colouring and the scattering of faint freckles across her nose and even tied in the braid Regina could tell her hair was abundant and healthy. Her male clothes weren’t all that shocking to the older woman after 3 months in the field. Regina herself had been wearing trousers and boots in the desert, but she still didn’t feel truly comfortable in the clothes despite their necessity and practicality. The young woman in front of her looked perfectly relaxed and comfortable in her shirt, trousers and worn leather jacket giving the impression that this was her usual wardrobe rather than a temporary aberration._

_Regina’s perusal brought her back to the smiling face, green eyes amused at her obvious assessment. Realising that time was ticking away and she still hadn’t said a word, embarrassment at her slip in manners caused her cheeks to darken with a blush and she finally found her voice._

_“Lady Regina Fitzwilliam.” Regina introduced herself before continuing. “I’d say it’s a pleasure to meet you, but given the way my head feels and that cut above your eye that wouldn’t be strictly true of the manner of our meeting at least.”_

_Regina smiled and paused momentarily, she was still rattled and the sudden thought of what the time might be and why she’d been hurrying in the first place reasserted a sense of urgency in her actions and demeanour. She pulled her watch out to check the time while continuing to address Emma somewhat absently as she also looked around for the satchel she’d been carrying when she’d collided with the younger woman._

_“I thank you for your assistance Miss Swan. I apologise for the collision but I really must dash or I’ll miss my train…”_

_At the first sound of Regina’s upper class English accent the younger woman’s entire body went rigid and her smile morphed into a deadly scowl directed toward the oblivious woman in front of her._

_“Oh right. We can’t possibly let the mess you caused with your blind haste delay your Ladyship, can we.”  Emma’s voice angrily snapped at her, the venom fairly dripping from the word Ladyship as she bit it out with disdain._

_The blonde knelt down to gather her paperwork uncovering Regina’s satchel in the process. Not bothering to look where she was aiming, she hurled the item at the dumbfounded woman behind her. Regina, eyes widened in confusion, just managed to catch the bag staggering back from the force behind the throw. She was totally bemused by this sudden rudeness and aggression, gone was the helpful and kind woman of moments ago, replaced by this angry madwoman._

_Regina glanced at her watch again, if she left immediately she still stood a chance of catching her train but even a few minutes spared to try and find out what had angered the young woman would definitely mean a night in Cairo. Deciding she really didn’t owe anything more than the apology she’d already given to the young woman, Regina stepped around the blonde and hurried away down the hallway moving so quickly the sound of her heels drowned out the further curses Emma threw at her quickly receding back._

Given this memory of how their last encounter ended, Regina had had little compunction in placing Emma Swan’s folder directly into the reject pile without bothering to look at the contents, still uncertain what she might have done to anger the blonde woman, but more than certain that Emma Swan wouldn’t want to work for her no matter the payment.  Regina made her way upstairs pausing momentarily to check on Henry before finally heading to her own room knowing Granny would be pleased she’d managed to retire before midnight. Tomorrow would come soon enough and there was still much to do.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spanish Phrases
> 
> Mi pequeño principe – my little prince.
> 
> Estoy listo a mi madre de reina – I’m ready my queenly mother.
> 
> Buenas noches Abuelo – Goodnight Grandfather


	3. Propositions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma Swan is in London delivering some artifacts when she receives an offer that's made hard to refuse.

**Chapter Two– Propositions**

**See Prologue for Disclaimer**

**Authors Notes at the end of the chapter.**

 

The rain poured down, it didn’t so much fall as remain a constant curtain from sky to ground through which the busy Kensington foot traffic waded. A tall figure strode through the puddles carrying a large suitcase in each hand, leather boots causing splash-back up the sides of tan trousers and shoulders hunched against the downpour. The well soaked hat brim, tipped forward, funnelled water down past narrowed green eyes and occasionally dropped on a sniffling nose, hands full and unable to pull the collar of the trench coat tight, a steady stream of water cascaded down their neck soaking the jacket and shirt under the coat.  

“Bloody rain always bloody rain! Damned unnatural, stupid weather…  I hate London.”

The figure with the suitcases grumbled but kept walking, not seeing or more likely not caring about the few surprised and confused looks that were sent in their direction. Passers-by were confused by the decidedly feminine voice they heard coming from what they’d assumed was a man by the clothes and stride.  Had anyone stopped to comment on their surprise Emma Swan would have given them the short end of the stick and told them to mind their own damned business, she was more than used to the comments her clothes often elicited and wasn’t shy about telling people what they could do with their opinions. Emma had answered to no one but herself for most of her young life and wasn’t about to change that state of affairs anytime soon.

Turning the corner Emma jumped away from the kerb trying unsuccessfully to avoid the small wave of water raised by the passage of a taxi through a very large puddle.  The spray drenched her boot, trousers and the suitcase she was carrying on that side.

“You ass!!” She yelled after the unconcerned driver.

Her anger grew worse when she realised it was the same taxi driver that had dropped her off five minutes earlier around the corner at the imposing main entrance to the Victoria and Albert Museum.  The contact she was meeting hadn’t bothered to mention the entrance to the research area of the museum was around the corner on Exhibition Road resulting in her having to walk around to the side of the huge building and her getting soaked from head to toe in the process. Finally she spotted the door in a small recess and pressed the bell to gain admittance. A few minutes later the door was opened by a thin young man wearing glasses and dressed in a dapper tweed suit, the very image of a British scholar. He quickly moved aside when Emma eagerly pushed her way into the foyer to get out of the downpour.

“Can I help you Sir?” He secured the door and turned to see Emma removing her hat and shaking out her long blonde curls while simultaneously undoing the belt of her trench coat to get the soaking wet weight off her shoulders. Glancing up she winked at his astounded and open mouthed expression of surprise.

“You sure can, _Sonny_.” Her tone was only slightly mocking around the title of _Sonny_.  “Tell me where I can find James Horton’s office and maybe bring me a nice cup of hot coffee.”

“Is Mr Horton expecting you Miss?” The young man seemed to be recovering from his shock at discovering Emma was a woman.

“He ruddy well better be I’ve got a few choice words to share with him. So where’s his office?”

“Have you a card? I’m in charge of all visitors in this part of the museum and need to check you off on the visitors list. If Mr Horton is in fact expecting you, he’ll have put your name on the list.” 

His tone indicated he didn’t believe her appointment existed and now fully recovered from his surprise he slipped into his most officious manner, sniffing dismissively at the unkempt and certainly unwomanly figure in front of him.  Emma nearly laughed out loud at the sight of him trying to look down his nose at her in disapproval, a stance that was less than impressive given that he was some four inches shorter than her and had to tilt his head backward to do it.

“Name’s Emma Swan.”

The man waited, expecting her to hand over a calling card but she just arched an eyebrow and continued shaking her coat and hat to rid them of as much water as she could.  Sighing in frustration, he made his way over to a small desk at the side of the foyer and picked up a clip board making a great show of examining the paper in front of him. Watching him Emma saw the tick of surprise his eye gave when he obviously came across her name on his list.

“Yes, well it appears Mr Horton has put you down. Follow me please.” 

Dropping the clipboard he headed toward Emma intending to relieve her of the heavy suitcases but was stopped suddenly when she shoved the dripping coat and hat into his hands and picked up the cases herself.

“Lead the way, Sonny.”

Holding the sodden material away from his pristine clothes he grimaced.

“My name is Saunders, Miss Swan, not _Sonny_.”  He opened the door to a long corridor and motioned for Emma to go through.

“Whatever you say… _Sonny_.”

Twenty minutes later Emma sat in front of a large desk reluctantly sipping milky tea from a china cup while carefully watching the man in front of her inspecting and making notes on each of the pieces in the first of the cases to be opened.  The smarmy Mr Saunders had come back with his version of _suitable_ refreshment, proper English tea, rather than Emma’s requested coffee and she took what was offered grateful at least for the warmth.

“Well Miss Swan all these pieces are adequate and a few are exceptional, this shawabti in particular is exquisite.” 

He held up the beautiful figure carved holding a hammer stone and chisel and formed of fine quality lapis lazuli and inscribed with columns of hieroglyphs all across its torso.

“I’m not much of a linguist, but I see there’s a cartouche here, do you know what it says?”

Emma raised an eye at his claim, given his instructions and the specifications she’d worked from, she highly doubted his claim of ignorance, but held her hand out for the figure anyway before making a show of examining the inscription. She knew very well what it said having spent the two week voyage from Alexandria to Southampton recording and translating all the material she was handing over today. Unlike many freelance diggers, Emma kept meticulous records of all her finds before delivering them to those who’d paid for them, or selling pieces on the black market. The four years she’d worked with the American Egyptologist, Herbert Winlock, had instilled a love of research and proper archaeological protocol she always tried to maintain…even in her more _unofficial_ excavations.

Emma turned the figure in her hand, enjoying the cool feel of the carved blue stone, the fact the shawabti was actual lapis and not the cheaper quartz fabrication of faience and the fact it contained a royal cartouche made it a somewhat rare and important find and she intended to get its true worth from the man sitting in front of her. Drawing her finger across the carefully inscribed characters she read in translation.

“ _O shawabti, given to me, if I, Wehemibre, Lord of the Two Lands, be summoned or if I be detailed to shape and form stone in the realm of the dead, you shall detail yourself for me on every occasion of shaping and forming stone for the purposes of Osiris Lord of the Dead; `Here am I', you shall say.”_

“Wehemibre? You’re sure that’s Necho’s cartouche?”

“Absolutely sure.”

She pointed at the small stack of paperwork beside the case on the table.

“As was the Antiquities Service officer who inspected the material before I left.”

These finds were the fruit of an officially licenced excavation she’d undertaken in the western reaches of the Delta and were properly documented. She’d been forced to leave behind the three gold shawabti figures they’d found and the small cache of gold and even rarer silver amulets that she’d discovered at the same time, as the authorities had insisted they had exceptional cultural and intrinsic value and would therefore be allotted to the Cairo Museum.  The stack of papers beside the case included pictures and documentation of these items too because they were part of the finds commissioned by the museum.

Horton nodded his agreement and carefully repacked the first case before moving on to the second one to inspect its contents. When the man was satisfied that all the items and their paperwork were correct and in order he sat back and observed the unconventional young woman sitting opposite.  Despite his personal distaste for her eccentricities, he’d engaged her on the enthusiastic recommendation of a friend and colleague from Manchester, to look for more Egyptian material for the V&A. The museum very much needed to improve its comparatively small Egyptian collection. The obsession with Tutankhamen and all things Egyptian was still rampant and they were in competition with one of the leading Egyptian collections in Europe only two miles away at the British Museum.  The collection of 42 objects on his desk would form the new heart of a special Pharaonic and Coptic Egyptian exhibit which would hopefully result in more visitors and wealthy benefactors.

“So now that you’ve checked everything, can I get my payment, I’d like to be on my way, I have a few other things to do today.”

Horton’s attention was brought back to his visitor who had dispensed with her tea cup and was now sitting forward in her chair elbows leaning on widespread knees in the most mannish posture he’d yet seen from the woman. Suddenly his sense of social propriety rose to the fore and he felt the urgent need to teach Emma Swan a lesson for so obviously flouting social norms with her manly dress and profession.

“Yes well, as I said, the collection is adequate but not spectacular, and as we paid for the dig licence and concession already, I’m afraid we can’t consider anything more than £350 for the whole …”

“Stop right there Horton and don’t waste my time by being an ass.  What, you think because I‘m a woman who wears trousers I’m stupid or something?”

The blonde reached into her jacket pocket and threw a packet of papers on the desk in front of him.

“Your signature, the Chief Curator’s and mine. Just let me remind you of the essential points shall I?  Payment of £1500 to cover my general fee, and all monies for the registration of the dig concession, administrative payments, hiring of dig personnel and payment of necessary bribes will be paid half in advance and the remainder upon completion of excavation regardless of the quality or quantity of finds. All finds to be paid for on the standard scale with reference to their type, quantity and quality and anything of unique...”

The man continued to scowl at her confident litany of the details in the contract he’d signed before she went to Egypt seven months previously. He was angry with himself for having been so preoccupied with wanting to put the woman in her place he’d ended up making a fool of himself instead.  Eventually he looked her in the eye when she stopped her recitation, his hackles rose again at the hard stare she was levelling at him but when she revealed her next statement his shoulders slouched in abject defeat knowing that she had him over a barrel.

“I’m not going to quibble with you Horton, I had dinner with a friend of mine last night, Margaret Murray, perhaps you’ve heard of her? She and my fellow dinner guests were quite impressed with the finds in fact Sir Wallis Budge, one of those guests, assures me he will put in a very good word with his successor at the BM if you fail to meet my price.”

The feral grin she levelled at him with that last statement was enough to cause him to shiver in dread and he immediately wondered what exorbitant amount she was going to demand for payment. _‘Damn it’_ he thought to himself _‘why didn’t I just keep my mouth shut.’_

“You’ll be pleased to hear Horton, that unlike some of my colleagues I honour my commitments and don’t try to squeeze my customers dry. So I’ll take the remaining £750 plus another £1250 for the 42 items here, a fair price I’m sure you’ll agree.”

Emma sat back with satisfaction, these armchair scholars like Horton, who never left the clean comfort of their ivory towers, never did the digging nor understood the skill required to excavate annoyed her no end and she truly relished being able to put one of them down.

“I’m sure you have the main cheque already drafted, so if you can hurry up and get me the cheque for the other £1250 I’ll be on my way.”

A short time later, a still somewhat damp Emma Swan left James Horton’s office encumbered only by two cheques in place of the two cases with which she’d arrived. Her mood was elated that little bit more when she bullied young Saunders into letting her through the private entrance into the museum proper eliminating the need for her to go out in the rain again.

A few hours later Emma was settled in the museum’s newly installed and very busy refreshment room waiting for the coffee and sandwiches she’d ordered to arrive. She’d spent an enjoyable time looking through a few of the galleries, getting a feel for the collections and making some notes on things that might be of interest to the museum in the future. Not that she intended to work with James Horton again if she could help it, but she’d always need buyers and if she had the goods, well then business was business.

While waiting for her order, Emma continued to busily check and make notes on the other contacts she intended to see while she was in London. She’d already delivered her other, less legally obtained, finds to her usual buyer in Bloomsbury and gotten an excellent price for them. Emma was very careful with her money and had saved a considerable sum from her busy five years of freelance excavating that would more than see her through any lean times that might come in the future. Having had none or very little of it for most of her life, Emma knew that money meant control and autonomy. Never again would she allow herself to be at anyone else’s mercy financially, her experiences as a captive servant in the Cuthbert household in Cairo, her time on the streets and her marginally better stay with the charitable Sisters of Mercy in the Bronx as a teenager had left their different scars on the young woman, physical and mental, and she was determined she would never be that helpless again.

A large shadow loomed over her table blocking the light from the window above and Emma looked up with a smile expecting to see a waiter with her late lunch. What she saw instead were two men in damp trench coats and limp trilby hats tipped back slightly. One of the men was huge, well over six feet tall and not much less than that in width, his coat looked like it was straining at the seams to cover his massive bulk. The other man was much smaller, shorter than Emma even, and had a scruffy beard that looked like a teenaged boy’s first attempt at having whiskers. He sported a strangely pained expression as if he was trying to work out a complex puzzle and it was getting the better of him. He took his hat off and spoke directly to her.

“Miss Emma Swan?”

“Who wants to know?”  She growled out. Emma eyed the men suspiciously, her street survival instincts kicking in and signalling potential danger.

“I’d like to have a word. Do you mind if I join you?”

His face changed expression to what Emma assumed was meant to be a charming smile but looked more like a sphincter controlling grimace.  Her instincts spiked again when he casually sat down without waiting for her reply. Trying to maintain the impression of friendliness he offered his hand across the table top.

“I’m Robert Locksley, a pleasure to meet you.”

Emma arched an eyebrow ignoring the proffered hand and folded her arms over her chest but said not a word and watched his face become clouded in confusion once again not understanding her silence. He took his hand back and placed the hat he held in the other on the table.

“I apologise for the forwardness Miss Swan, but I’ve been looking for you for the past two days, you’re not an easy girl to find.”  His tone was smooth and meant to be playful to match his smile which as far as Emma was concerned made him look like he was suffering from terrible constipation.

“That might be because I’m not a girl.  Not that I actually said you could join me, but why don’t you just say what you have to say so I can get on with my lunch?”  Emma spoke to the man seated in front of her, but her eyes were on the behemoth of a man standing behind him thinking him the more obvious and greater danger.

“Yes, quite. Well Miss Swan I’m here on behalf of my employer who wishes to acquire your, umm, expert services shall we say.”

The way his voice purred over the word _services_ made Emma’s stomach turn the innuendo was so obvious. Emma lived her life on her own terms and for her own comfort, clothes, profession and attitude all bearing witness to that fact. She would never understand what it was that made men either assume that she wanted to be a man, which she didn’t, or that because she was different from most women in her free way of living that the difference must include some kind of sexual free for all they could benefit from. Men, she decided, were either idiots, pigs or both with few exceptions.

“Listen buddy, just give me your bosses name and I’ll give him a call…if I have time.” She reached out for her notebook and pen to write the name down.

“I’m afraid that won’t do Miss Swan. Professor Gold is very particular you see. My instructions are to bring you to him to discuss a commission he wants you to take.”

“Gold, you mean Rupert Gold? The one who used to be a Don at Cambridge? The one who went totally screwy and started carving up sheep and dogs in his digs at King’s College?”

Robert Locksley dropped his smile looking uncomfortable at the unflattering but quite accurate description of his employer. His discomfort grew when he saw the knowing smirk on the blonde’s face as she sat back and continued speaking.

“Yeah, that would be a definite not interested pal. I prefer not to work for lunatics and madmen.”

Glancing to her left she saw a waiter approaching the table at last.

“You’ve got your answer, and my lunch is here so I’ll say good day to you.”

The waiter arrived and placed the tray on the table looking uncertainly at the table’s occupants and the giant of a man standing next to the table. He began to move the contents of the tray to the table; sandwich and cake tiers, pot of coffee, plate, cup, saucer and cutlery.

“Um, would you care to order something for your companions Miss?”

“No thank you. They’re just leaving.” Emma looked pointedly at the two intruders. “They were just asking for directions to the main entrance.” Grinning she continued. “I’ve not been to the museum before so wasn’t able to help them very much, perhaps you could have one of the museum guards show them the way.”

The waiter, quite taken with Emma’s beauty despite her unusual clothes, caught onto her hinting and stepped toward the two men.

“Certainly Miss.  Gentlemen if you’ll come with me, there’s a guard just outside the main door here, I’m sure he’ll be happy to escort you.”

Locksley’s large companion took a step toward the waiter trying to intimidate the young man, who, to his credit, stood his ground, gesturing for the men to move toward the exit.

“I’m sorry you feel this way Miss Swan, Professor Gold was quite insistent that he wished to see you.” He leaned forward and continued quietly so that only Emma could hear him. “I assure you Miss Swan, he is not accustomed to having his will thwarted.”

 “I’m sure you’ll break it to him gently. Goodbye Mr Locksley.”

“Gentlemen.” The waiter interjected firmly.  For half a moment it looked like the shorter man might object but eventually he shrugged and stood up, jerking his head to his companion.

“Come on John, let’s go.” He put his hat back on and turned to Emma.

“I’m sure we’ll meet again Miss Swan.” He smirked.

“Yeah, and I’m sure we won’t.”

The two men moved off toward the exit, the waiter following along to make sure they didn’t linger and to see that the guard escorted them from the building. Emma put the encounter out of her mind and tucked into her lunch, savouring the hot bitter taste of the coffee she’d been longing for all day.

Nearly an hour later Emma stood on the top step of the museum entrance scowling at the still falling rain and pulling her collar tight around her neck. Scanning the busy road she searched for any passing cabs she could hail but quickly realised she’d need to leave the relative shelter of the archway above her to brave the downpour kerbside if she wanted to be successful.  Hunching her shoulders she stepped down into the downpour.   When she reached the pavement she headed to the kerb looking down the road at the oncoming traffic but couldn’t make out any cabs. She was about to turn round to check the other direction when she felt her elbow taken in a firm grip.

“What the hell!”

 Emma exclaimed looking up into the smug face of Robert Locksley who slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her roughly into his side where she felt something sharp jab into her ribs. She glanced down to see the dull black barrel of a revolver held in his other hand.

“I’m sorry Miss Swan but I really must insist you accompany us to meet with the Professor.”

Emma, too busy struggling to pull away from his firm grip, didn’t notice the large black car pull to a stop beside them nor the door swinging quickly open before she felt herself tumbling into the dark interior falling half on the leather seat and half on John, her kidnapper ‘s giant companion from earlier.  She scrambled to right herself and turn to escape only to feel the sharp sting of a pistol handle connecting with her temple before darkness overcame her.

 

***

“Miss Swan.”

Emma thought she heard her name being called, but the sound was muffled and sounded like it was coming from a great distance, if only the blinding pain in her head would stop so she could focus.

“Miss Swan, come now, it’s time for you to wake up.”

The voice was there again closer this time and more insistent. She felt her shoulders being shaken causing her head to loll and the pain to stab through her skull. Giving a small cry she pulled away from the hand at her shoulder her eyes snapping open as she tried to scramble back from the stranger bent over her.  

“Who the hell are you?” She rasped stopping her backwards movement when she found herself trapped against the arm of the chaise longue on which she was lying. Her panic was slightly overtaken by another sharp stab of pain across her left temple and she raised her hand to try and ease the throbbing agony surrounding her eye there.

 “Damn that hurts!”

Emma rubbed her head and glared at the man who was now moving toward a chair a few feet away, his gait was somewhat halting and aided by a gold-capped walking stick. Trying to get her bearings, the blonde’s eyes darted around the room looking for the exit but also noting the vast book cases, huge oak desk by the window, a round table strewn with books and papers and several other pieces of furniture in the cluttered space as she searched for her quickest escape route.  The pain in her head eased slightly causing her to suddenly remember what had happened with Robert Locksley. She jumped angrily to her feet ignoring the wave of nausea that rolled through her stomach at the sudden change in position, she realised where she was now and who the man opposite must be.

“Jesus H Christ! What are you playing at Gold?” She glared at the man who sat comfortably before her with a simpering half smile showing his amusement at her outburst. He was older, maybe in his fifties with unusually long hair nearly to his shoulders and dressed in an expensive,  well-tailored suit, he relaxed into the leather chair as if it were a throne before propping both hands on his walking stick.

“Welcome Miss Swan, what a pleasure to make your acquaintance at last. I’ve been following your career for a number of years now. That little adventure of yours in Aswan was particularly impressive I must say. Whatever made you dig in the western wadi instead of the eastern I wonder?”  

The half-smile on the older man’s face turned into a full on crocodile grin when he saw Emma’s jaw drop at this nonchalant greeting. In fact he was so ridiculously entertained by the look of incredulity on the girl’s face he actually tittered out loud.

“You think this is funny? Seriously? That’s what you have to say to me after your goons punched my lights out? Damn it you are a barmy bastard if you think kidnapping is the way to convince someone to work for you.”

“Yes, well sometimes Mr Locksley is a little…” He tittered again and continued in a sickly sing-song voice. “… over-zealous in his desire to carry out his instructions, but I really shouldn’t complain about such exceptional loyalty now should I?”

Emma stared at him shook her head and muttered, “Total Loon.” Then she turned and headed for the door, concentrating hard to make sure she didn’t wobble on her still shaky legs.

“Please Miss Swan, now that you’re here, it would be best if you sat down and at least heard what I’m proposing.”

The blonde ignored him and continued her march to the door grabbing the handle and wrenching it open so that it slammed against the wall. Head down, she barrelled through the doorway and ran headfirst into the man-mountain that was called John.  She staggered back in surprise at the renewed pain in her head which lead to a string of foul language that left John unmoved before her and Gold cackling jovially behind her. She leant heavily against the wall until the stabbing pain receded and growled at the man in her path.

“Look Goliath, I’ve seen your boss and we’re done so just get the hell out of my way.”

John looked over to Gold and at the shake of the older man’s head stayed where he was, blocking the blonde’s only exit. Frustrated and in pain Emma took several deep breaths trying to get her anger under control, she needed to calm down and think clearly if she was going to get herself out of here. Gold was obviously determined to have his say and there appeared to be little she could do about it. She could listen to him at least and even agree to his terms if she had to, it didn’t mean she had to follow through once she was out of here. Taking one last deep breath she pushed away from the wall and returned to the chaise longue glaring at Gold the whole time.

“At last you’re seeing sense Miss Swan, I promise you won’t regret it, I have quite the deal for you.”

“Just get on with it Gold.”

“Fine, fine, John would you have some tea sent up and ask Robert to join us.”

Emma bristled at the mention of Locksley and scowled at the older man. Gold gave her another crocodile grin and settled back comfortably in his chair choosing not to respond to the blonde’s reaction.  He leant his stick against the table beside him just before the door opened and Locksley sauntered into the room.  Emma glowered at the man and half rose from the chaise to confront him but Gold interjected.

“I’m sure Robert will apologise for his excesses earlier Miss Swan. I do so like my people to get along.”

Locksley smirked at Emma giving a sketchy bow in her general direction before moving toward Gold. He spoke to the blonde while he settled into a chair set about half way between her and Gold.

“I did say you’d be seeing me again Miss Swan, my apologies for our difference of opinion earlier today. I’m sure you understand, it’s just business.”

“Can it Locksley!  Just count yourself lucky I’ve decided to listen to what the old man has to say. Maybe if I like what I hear I’ll forget about kicking your ass before I leave.”

She turned back to Gold before continuing, her look remaining just as severe.

“Like I said, get on with it so I can get the hell out of here.”

“Patience Dearie, all will be revealed forthwith.”

Emma cringed both at his faux endearment and the sing-song tone of his speech.

“One of my, well shall we say one of my _associates_ , Captain Jones, recently sent me a particularly interesting scrap of papyrus that he came across in a Cairo street market a few months back…”

Gold proceeded to inform Emma that the fragment was part of a map and its accompanying legend. He also told her he’d discovered that the map was connected to an assortment of papyri that he’d kept from his excavations in the Sinai desert more than a decade earlier. A few of those earlier fragments, though filled with numerous large gaps and smaller lacunae, listed a number of libraries attached to various temples along the Nile from Tanis in the north all the way to Gebel Barkal in the far south of Nubia. The names of three of these libraries also appeared on the new papyrus in the correct geographical positions referenced in the earlier papyri.

He pointed out that all the fragments dated from the Late Period, one definitely from the reign of Amasis and one mentioning an endowment given to the library attached to the temple of the Apis bull in Memphis during the first Persian Period less than a hundred years before the conquest by Alexander the Great. They both knew it was these earlier libraries upon which Ptolemy II had modelled his great library in Alexandria.

Listening to Gold’s story, Emma felt the tendril of excitement begin to curl in her gut and sat a little straighter on the chaise longue making sure not to miss a word the man was saying. Libraries, damn! Not just one, but many, maybe even dozens, all filled with the lost knowledge of the ancients…if even one of them was still intact it would be the discovery of a lifetime. Her mind reeled at the potential but she kept her face a neutral mask not giving away any sign of her interest.  

Gold watched her carefully noting her bland expression but also noting when her body tensed and she sat forward, recognising from that movement that he’d hooked his fish at last, now all he had to do was reel her in and land her. To that end he decided to give her a little line and sweeten the bait, He paused and addressed Locksley.

“Robert fetch the two boxes in the top drawer of my desk please and place them on the table.”

The younger man got up immediately to do his bidding and he turned back to Emma.

“Why not have a look for yourself Miss Swan. The map is in the walnut box and the other papyri are in the cherry wood box.” He swept his arm toward the table inviting her to examine the papyri.

Emma was itching to take him up on the offer, but didn’t want to appear too eager so stayed where she was waiting for him to continue. He raised a brow amused rather than annoyed by her stubbornness, it was a trait he intended to exploit after all.

“Please Miss Swan come and see the material, you’ll need to study it carefully if you accept my commission.”

Gold took up his walking stick and walking over to the chaise and motioning an invitation for Emma to join him at the table wear Locksley had laid the boxes one beside the other before removing their lids and returning to his seat. Giving a shrug of implied indifference Emma rose and stepped over to the table. The larger box revealed dozens of scraps of papyri, varying in shade from the palest yellow to dark brown all cleverly mounted between wood framed sheets of glass neatly stacked one on top of the other.  The smaller box held only the single piece of torn papyrus carefully clipped to a glass plate but not yet properly mounted.  She reached out for the map box to reposition it better under the overhead light, where she proceeded to examine the map, immediately recognising that it was portraying the western delta area of the Nile.

“Have you heard of the Book of Thoth Miss Swan?”

 Emma blinked at the unexpected interruption but thought for a few minutes before answering.

“Uh, you mean the one in the story about Setne Khamwese and the tomb of Neferkaptah?  It was some book holding the secrets of Thoth’s wisdom that Neferkaptah stole and ended up dying for or something like that.”

“Indeed that’s the tale, or at least it’s the Ptolemaic version that has come down to us yes.”

He watched Emma continue to study the map, assuming she was trying to decipher the scrawled Demotic script on the left of the fragment.

“What you do not know is that the ancient sources were mistaken, the book Neferkaptah pilfered did not hold the paltry wisdom of Thoth but the dark and deep secrets of the Mysteries of Osiris.”

Emma looked up sharply from the map and eyed the older man. Something in the tone of his voice sounded slightly off, just strange enough to catch the blonde’s attention.  The crocodile smile returned and Emma shivered at the intent glint in his eye as he stared at her.  The look brought to mind stories of the man’s fall from grace as a respected Cambridge academic, not to mention the rumours of his decent into madness that precipitated that fall. They were only rumours as far as she knew, built on the strange actions of yet another wealthy English eccentric. She held no truck with the current interest in things spiritual and esoteric like Gold did, she knew Egypt, it’s life and rhythms and most of all Emma was a digger and she dealt in the hard reality of sand, sweat and stone.

“And you know this how exactly?”

“A lifetime of research and determination Miss Swan. Well that and just the right amount of luck and of course the small matter of destiny.” The end statement was made in his strange sing-song lilt and with a quirky twirl of his hand.

They were interrupted by the arrival of a maid with the tea tray who carefully placed it on the table on the side furthest away from the boxes of papyri. Gold dismissed her and asked Emma if she would play hostess, sniggering at the blonde’s rude dismissal and indication that Locksley could _‘be mother’_ because she’d had quite enough of milky English tea for this visit. The older man laughed and poured himself a cup before returning to his chair.

“Now to business Miss Swan.  As I said my associate, Captain Jones came across the map piece in one of the Cairo souks, he was less than detailed about it I’m afraid so I’m not sure which part of the city he was in.” He took a sip from his cup, sighing in satisfaction before continuing. “ I want to hire you to find out the provenance of the map and see if you can discover any more pieces that could fill in the blanks.”

“You think I can trace the origin of a 6 by 4 inch piece of papyrus someone bought in the back streets of Cairo? Are you serious? Finding more scraps, sure no problem there, maybe even scraps with maps, but find out where that one came from? ‘Fraid it can’t be done Professor.” She snorted derisively at his impossible request.

“Ahh but if there was anyone who could manage to do it, it would be you wouldn’t it?”  Unfazed by her dismissal of his request he continued to goad her and stroke her ego in an attempt to convince her to accept the job.

“Your knowledge of antiquities and more importantly your intimate knowledge of the back streets and black markets of Cairo make you the best candidate for the job Miss Swan. I will pay you handsomely to search and a king’s ransom if you succeed.”

“Define handsome and ransom Professor?”  Emma wasn’t against taking the man’s money, even for a hopeless case, and as he understood the need for separating payment for the searching and the unlikely finding it didn’t matter if she was successful or not.

“I’ll pay you £1000 just to search, if you haven’t found anything in six months I’ll either pay you another £1000 for six more months or you can quit and we’ll be done.”

“And if I find out where it comes from or find another piece of the map?” The blonde queried.

“For its proven provenance I’ll pay you £500.” His eyes became slightly manic in their intensity. “Bring me another piece with more locations and I’ll pay you £5000.”

Emma sat stunned at the amount of money he was offering for a single fragment of papyrus.  Hell even the amount he was willing to pay just for a six month search would keep her very comfortably for several years in Egypt. She didn’t have a new commission lined up yet and there wasn’t anything to say she couldn’t take on other work while she searched…it really was an amazing offer.  

“Well Miss. Swan, do we have a deal?”

Making a decision that mad money was still money Emma nodded her head.

“Yes I believe we can do business Professor…if the £500 is up front and we whip up a binding contract with the other specifics.”

Locksley, who’d been silently watching the other two while drinking his own tea spluttered at the blonde’s cheeky demands. He’d dealt with all kinds of people in the three years he’d been working for Gold but Emma Swan had quickly become one of the most annoying assignments he’d ever had from his employer. And the money he was willing to pay her, and she wanted it up front! He couldn’t help it, his hackles rose and he spoke up.

“You expect to be paid before the job is even started?

Emma pointedly ignored his interjection and addressed the older man.

“Those are my terms Professor, take ‘em or leave ‘em, either way I’m leaving here in the next five minutes.”

Locksley’s face reddened considerably at being ignored by the blonde and he turned to his boss, whining out his objection to her demands like a petulant child.

“Don’t agree to it Professor, you’ll be paying her more than double what I’m paid in a year for doing absolutely nothing.” He sneered at Emma before adding. “I guarantee you the little guttersnipe will take your money and not bother to search a single day once she’s back in Egypt.”

“Do be quiet Robert. I know far more about Miss Swan than you do and I trust her demand for a written contract is an excellent indication she’ll hold up her end of the bargain. Besides, I can tell that her curiosity has been piqued and she’ll want to scratch that itch as soon as possible.”

He grinned knowingly at Emma.

“We have a deal then Miss Swan, as I knew we would.  I’ll have my barrister draw up the paperwork tomorrow and we can meet in his chambers to sign it all the day after. I’ll see that you get a copy of the pieces I have for a reference when I send you the appointment details tomorrow.” 

Gold stood, leaning slightly on his walking stick and held out his hand to Emma who had stood at the same time. Nodding she took his hand in a firm grasp managing not to recoil from the clammy feel of his skin.

“You’ve got your deal Gold. Don’t forget to have the cash as well when we meet to sign things.  I’ll be on my way now.”

During her movements around the room she’d noticed her hat and coat hung on a clothes rack by the window so made her way over to it and shrugging immediately into the coat but keeping hold of the hat in one hand. Gold called out John’s name and the giant opened the door immediately taking a step or two into the room to see what his boss wanted.

“Miss Swan will be leaving now John, could you see her to the door please.”

Emma grimaced when it occurred to her she had no idea where in London she was at that moment so she turned to the Professor.

“By the way, where the hell are we? I need to get back to my digs and I’d prefer not to get drowned again today.”

“We’re in Ealing, but not to worry, I’ll have my driver take you back to Kensington Miss Swan.” Gold offered.

“I’ll pass on that just tell me where I can hail a cab.”

Gold tried to insist that his car would take her back, but Emma had had enough of Gold’s minions and eventually got the directions she needed from the professor. When she turned to leave she noticed Locksley still glaring at her with open disdain.

Emma detoured towards him on her way out, walking straight up to the glowering man. Before he knew what was happening she pulled back and punched him hard across the jaw sending him to his knees in front of her where she finished him off with a kick to his groin causing him to double over writhing in agony on the floor.

“Sorry, but I changed my mind about kicking your ass. Now we’re even.” 

Emma’s hand hurt like hell from the punch so she shook it out while she pulled her hat on with the other hand. Making her way to the door she had a wide grin in place when she saw the giant John’s look of surprise and she laughed out loud when he carefully covered his manhood with his hands as she passed him and headed out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N 1: The Discovery of Tutankhamen’s tomb in late 1922 resulted in a worldwide sensation known as Egyptomania (or sometimes more specifically Tutmania.). The discovery influenced amongst other things, popular art, literature, theatre, film and architecture. It also caused a major boom in archaeological exploration in Egypt. The antiquities service of the time approached this previously unprecedented demand with both new restrictions and requirements for would be excavations in the country and at many levels, a pragmatic understanding and utilisation of the revenue to be made by granting excavation licenses and concessions willy nilly. There was also a major resurgence of the black-market trade in antiquities often fed by the increase in illegal local digging that flourished to feed this new worldwide demand for Egyptian artefacts. Emma operates within this strangely regulated free for all one foot in each camp so to speak so she not only takes legitimate commissions but also dabbles in clandestine trade as well.  
> A/N 2: The study of ancient Egypt has always been an evolving discipline as new discoveries add to and change knowledge and perceptions. This is particularly evident in linguistics where great strides in deciphering the evolving Egyptian language from its first appearance c.3300 BCE to the last hieroglyphic inscription in 410 CE were made over the first three quarters of the 20th century. A great deal of earlier held views and conventions of translation and transliteration of ancient Egyptian were changed time and again and changed back again over this period. i.e. the name for the funerary servant figures found in Egyptian tombs were variously translated as Ushabti, Washabti, Shawabti, and Shabti figurines, depending on which transliteration convention was current at the time. I have tried where possible to use the transliterations that would have been current in the 1920s…as much as they really grate on my nerves, lolol. (i.e. I much prefer the more modern translations of Tutankhamun and Ushabti rather than Tutankhamen and Shawabti which were popular in the 1920s.)  
> A/N3: Margaret Murray and Sir E.A. Wallis Budge are well known British Egyptologists associated with Flinders Petrie and the British Museum in the late 19th and first half of the 20the centuries.


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